


Call to Cancel

by Moonsheen



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Gen, Post-Recall, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 07:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7792453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonsheen/pseuds/Moonsheen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Someone has initiated a recall," they say. "Has anyone tried to contact you?"</p><p>“I should think, if such a thing had occurred, I would have heard about it."</p><p>Post-Recall, Doctor Angela Ziegler attends a business conference, causes entirely more property damage than she would like, and reconnects with an old colleague.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call to Cancel

“We believe, with your help and cooperation of the World Health Organization, we will be able to bring this technology to twenty-four new regions in the next five years.”

Thunderous applause. Murmurs among the trustees. The conference ends on a note of hope and satisfaction. Dr. Ziegler steps off of the stage and into a throng of colleagues with many questions. 

The conference has gone well. She has secured the commitment of at least five donors and expects to hear from ten more by the end of the week. She smiles and answers their questions. The implant hidden by her hairline tells her their heart rates are elevated and their breathing is uneven, but she knows from their faces that they are mostly in a state of excitement. There are so many that their heartbeats fill her head like music. When all the questions are answered to the best of her ability, she excuses herself and weaves her way through the crowds as they filter out of the hotel ballroom.

More people catch her in the lobby. The conference organizers congratulate her. A colleague asks to meet her for lunch before she flies out. Dr. Ziegler thanks the organizers and tells the colleague she is flattered, but her plane leaves this afternoon -- some other time, though? 

She checks her phone. She checks her flight details. She checks her text messages, too, just to confirm a few other appointments as well. She almost does not notice the two men until they are nearly on top of her. They are wearing dark navy suits with identical pins in the lapels.

“Dr. Ziegler.”

“Hello, gentlemen,” she says. “May I help you?”

They explain to her it is an urgent matter. They show her their cards. They match the current IDs used by UN security representatives.

“Oh, my,” says Dr. Ziegler, taken quite off guard. “Has there been an incident? I must have permission to deploy, but I can call the director if you’d like--”

She pulls up a contact list on her phone, but the men shake their heads. No. Not necessary. It’s a matter of her security, they explain, in low voices so no one else can hear. They are the picture of calm, both outside and inside. Professionals. Straight-backed and very fit.

“ _ My _ security?” asks Dr. Ziegler. “Who on earth would…”

“Someone has initiated a recall,” says one of the men. His partner looks up quite sharply, to be sure none of the other conference goers has heard. “Has anyone tried to contact you?”

This changes the tenor of the conversation quite completely. Dr. Ziegler goes very still. The lobby is still full of people. Healthy, happy people. She exits out of her contact list. She makes it look very natural, very calm.

“I should think, if such a thing had occurred, I would have heard about it,” she says, slowly. “You know, however, I have not been affiliated with Overwatch in some time--”

A shift in the first man’s breathing patterns. His jaw goes tight. “You’re not a suspect,” he says. “We think we’ve isolated the frequency. We just want to be sure you’re safe.”

“Is there a reason I wouldn’t be?”

The second man answers. He has stayed calm. “No, not at all. We’re just trying cover our bases. We’d prefer to discuss the details in private.”

Dr. Ziegler pauses in the process of sliding her phone into her purse. She watches the second agent more closely. His weight shifts, rather deliberately, from one foot to the other. She smiles, meaning to put him at ease.

“All right,” she says. “May I meet you in a moment, however? My suitcase is still up in my room.”

They do not pause or look at each other, but their heart rates spike.

“I’m sorry,” says the first, with a tight, deliberate smile, “there isn’t much time.”

“We’ll send someone for it,” offers the second man, taking a step closer.

“Well, if it is so urgent,” says Dr. Ziegler, easily enough, “show me the way.”

They do. They lead her not out to the hotel pick-up area, but around the back, behind the hotel’s loading dock. They’ve parked their car beside the open doors. A bored hotel staffer nods as they flash their badges, but besides that they are quite alone. 

Good. The first man is opening the car door for her when Dr. Ziegler presses the band on her right wrist. The hotel window three storeys up shatters outwards. The glass spatters on the empty pavement. There are no civilians to injure. The first man wheels around, alarmed. The second reacts faster, making a blind grab for her shoulder, but the valkyrie unit has reached her. The nanites engage. The armor fastens in place. Mercy spreads her wings, ready to make for open air.

Oh, if only it that simple! The first man makes a frantic call into the comm-link she had ignored. Cars come screaming into the lot. An electric blast buzzes past her shoulder. The hotel staffer who let them through is armed and on their side. Mercy springs off of the hotel wall as the second man launches himself after her. She is ten feet off the ground, but he grabs her ankle easily. He is wearing his own exo-suit: armor encases his arms and legs, hidden under his own suit, and how did she miss something like that--! He throws her down and back into the parking lot, and Mercy has to use her staff as a vault, to escape what could have been a very nasty kick to her chest.

Her nanites and armor are responsive, her systems are fully operational, but she is quite outnumbered. Her implants pick up the vital signature of a sniper on the roof. She loses altitude avoiding their shot. The hotel staffer releases another electric blast, and Mercy thinks things are about to go very poorly for her indeed. A flash of silver fills her sights.

She is quite awake, a second later. Mercy blinks, her implants registering a change in the situation. The first man is lying on the ground by the car. The second, on the ground near her feet. The electric blast has scorched the ground far away from her, reflected, rather improbably by a man with a sword. He stands between her and all her rather rude new friends, sheathing his blazing weapon. He is a newcomer, but her implants identify him by name even before he turns to check on her.

“Genji?” she gasps. “Is that really you?”

She really doesn’t need to ask -- there’s no one else with vitals so unique, but it’s been years. She hadn’t expected to ever see him again.

“Good morning, Dr. Ziegler,” says Genji. He looks over her shoulder and gestures smartly -- a thumb’s up. Mercy stares. “I liked your panel. Please duck.”

Mercy ducks. The second man has recovered and launched himself at them. His enhanced hands are like claws. They rip into the solid concrete of the wall behind them. Genji tosses a fistful of shuriken, but while they pin the man’s sleeve to the wall for a moment, he rips it loose almost immediately.

“I… may need your assistance,” says Genji, quickly.

“Eh? Oh! Yes, of course,” Mercy fixes a tether on him. Genji races up the wall, and she follows him as five more men in black come pouring out of a jumble of new cars. “Please don’t hurt them, Genji! They are only doing their job--”

“They are doing Talon’s job,” says Genji. He reloads with a sharp flick of his arm, sending another array of shuriken behind him as they plunge across the hotel roof and over to the next building. “The real agents are stuck in traffic.”

“TALON?” gasps Mercy, fumbling for her blaster more than she would like. She was always a terrible aim with it. “But they have exo-suits! How did Talon get a hold of that technology? Oh, those brutes! Those thieves! ...Or did they  _ purchase  _ them? How could they do that? That was all supposed to stay under UN protection, there is no way they could have gotten it...”

“Dr. Ziegler.”

“The accords accounted for all the technology developed by Overwatch and its contractors. Those patents were NOT to fall into general civilian, commercial, or contract use, let alone the black market! How absolutely sloppy on their part--”

_ “Dr. Ziegler.” _

“Ah?”

Genji gestures. Enemies land off of a helicopter ahead of them. Enemies are closing in from behind them.

“I will need a boost,” says Genji, his hand closing over his sword. His own implants have begun to hum and glow. His vents hiss.

Mercy shakes her head. There will be time, later, to be outraged by all of this. She twists her staff, changing the setting immediately. “Of course,” she says, “but are you sure? After all this time--”

“For this purpose? Yes,” says Genji, without hesitation. He becomes a great green blur, and their path is cleared.  
  


They flee into the commercial district. Where there are many tall buildings and advertisements, and it is much harder for a helicopter to gain visuals. 

“It is very nice to see you again, Genji,” says Mercy, trying to act natural as they land a bit too close to some children spray-painting a dumpster. Genji flashes his visor at them. They evacuate quickly. Mercy waves awkwardly as they depart, keeping to narrow alleys and backways, hopping the occasional wall. “But how did you think to find me here?”

“I read the convention program,” says Genji, simply. “I was hoping to see your talk.”

“You were? Oh, goodness. I hope it wasn’t too dry. I only had a few hours to prepare it -- oh. You knew the Talon agents would read it, too.” Genji nodded. “It was obvious, wasn’t it? I’m sorry. I know I should have cancelled my appearance the moment I received the recall notice, but I’d promised the organizers my time, and I couldn’t leave them without a guest. This initiative is so important... Genji? Are you alright?”

Genji’s fine. Genji’s shoulders are shaking. Laughter, Mercy realizes after a stunned moment. He’s laughing at her. She’s never seen him laugh before. It’s such a remarkable thing she almost forgets to keep running.

“I’m fine,” he confirms, after a moment. They skid around a corner, then immediately skid back. There are dark cars in the next street. “I am just thinking ‘oh, that is so like her.’ I have missed our conversations.”

Mercy is as confused as she is touched. “You have?”

“So you received the notice.”

“How could I not? It called my phone, AND left a encrypted e-mail in my inbox! I’m surprised, really. I would have thought we would have come up with something a bit more subtle than ‘OVERWATCH RECALL SUMMONS, AGENT PLEASE RESPOND.’”

“Will you?”

“Mm?”

“Respond,” says Genji.  

They pause behind a large hologram of a soda advertisement. There is a good deal of city left between them and the airport. She hears sirens. She sees another helicopter prowling the horizon. It is going to be a very long day. Mercy considers the question at hand.

“My flight to Gibraltar is due out this afternoon,” she says, quietly, “but I suppose I am going to miss it. I imagine the UN would really like to take me into custody for my safety. It is what I would do, in their position, but I do not think I can let them. I will have to find some other way, won’t I?”

Genji tilts his head at her. It is hard to read his expression beneath his visor, but she has the very new and distinct impression that it is hiding a smile.

“No, you won’t,” he says. He grasps her hand. The metal is warm and alive. “Because I will take you there.”


End file.
